


Morality Snacks

by Anonymous



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Morality, Gen, Humour, Kid Peter Quill, Pre-Canon, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Yondu sets out to fill gaps in Peter's education. Especially when it comes to things the translator implant can't help the kid with, and those unspoken little Ravager rules that he might not have caught on to yet.





	Morality Snacks

**Author's Note:**

> For a [prompt from MCU Kink](https://mcu-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/820.html?thread=105524#cmt105524): Gen, Yondu and Peter father son fluff. I just want to see something involving younger Peter Quill and Yondu attempting to dad, failing in some ways and succeeding in another.

* * *

  
"What's this?" Peter said, squishing his fingers into the bubbly green substance in his bowl with an expression like he wasn't supposed to be having fun doing it, and Yondu replied, "Dictator. Eat up."

*

'Nova Corpse' went down a treat - the kid asked for seconds, and later smiled all sunshiney when he managed to get thirds into an airtight container for his emergency stash. The cooks got such a kick to hear him saying it, chirpy and innocent, they just laughed and dished up. Peter had been through two run-ins with the Nova Corps along with the rest of the crew, but the slight change in pronunciation was enough to flummox his translator and stop him making the right connection. That joke only worked in half the common languages, anyhow.

He was at an awkward age to have a fresh translator implant, and was sheltered, besides. Most kids got theirs a good few years younger, when brain and implant could develop together, and adults had a greater breadth of experience that equalled more options. Peter's limited cultural knowledge meant that the chip struggled to find understandable equivalents for anything that didn't have a direct translation, and while he seemed to have a decent vocabulary, it was drawn mostly from the lighter side of life, so here among Ravagers he had to round it out with a bunch of new words in languages he wasn't used to pronouncing. It was the least of what he needed to learn, though, and he was smart enough, judging by his more than average success with long division and fractions and all, so Little Quill and his beleaguered translator implant were just going to have to figure things out.

'Beleaguered', hmm... Was there a way to slip that one into conversation, sometime? Wasn't a shitty enough thing to work as one of the little mealtime lessons, though, but it was a nice word. A bit of fancy talk could get him sounding trustworthy to rich folk.

*

"Get that sentiment in your facehole right quick and then _gear up, Peter_ , this job nor most others ain't gonna sit around waiting until you're ready!"

The kid looked dubious like he hadn't in some time, but he gobbled the mashed yaro root as ordered.

"Music! But why?" Yondu heard Peter mutter as he rushed away from his plate and to his disguise as Adorable Kiddie Xandarian Refugee. "Why would that stuff be called the same thing as grandpa music...?"

*

"That's ravisher."

Peter's spoon slowed down for a few vital seconds, but he did it: he closed his lips around the bowl of the spoon and deposited the contents in his mouth.

"No it's not," he said. "Almost everybody's in here eating, and if they're not, they're on duty, and there hasn't been any sickness or fighting lately so nobody could have died!"

"What?!" Yondu felt affronted. "'Ravisher' sounds like 'Ravager' to you?"

The face Peter pulled was a look familiar on people struggling with the workings of their translator implants: _That made no sense and you sound like a dumbass and might very well be._ The two of them had to compare very slow pronunciations - slow enough that the translator didn't try and dig meaning out of it - and lip-reading to clear things up.

"No, see, I said 'ravish'. That's different. Real different. Don't go getting the wrong idea!" Shit, he really didn't want the kid to be thinking something like that. Probably his own fault for getting fancy, though—"The term's a mite old-fashioned, too."

Peter scowled. "Maybe that's why you sound like the ladies at the hairdresser talking about stupid books, and you don't read books that aren't computer-stuff or have hair at all! It's still not being translated right. This translator you put in me is dumb."

"So help it along! Don't you like doing that even when damnwell nobody asked you to poke your nose and cold sticky fingers in their business? Anyway, if you really want that thing to work, you gotta work too, like you got told at the surgery," Yondu said. "Careful if you look this word up for more detail, though. Might give you a couple nightmares, Li'l Quill."

"As if! I'm not some kind of baby!" Peter slopped down another spoonful as Yondu laughed, because that was news to him. "All I have to know is, this tastes fine! Delicious, even!"

"Delectable," Yondu said, as a challenge. Those generally tended to get the kid out of his tantrums.

It worked, Peter's glare fading a little into a thoughtful look. "Tasty?"

"Oh, psshht. Try again. Put in effort."

"Superb! Like the cooks have outdone themselves. And, and flavourful," he said defiantly, earning seconds.

*

"I think I've decided I don't want ... traffic," Peter said, and then upped the confidence in his voice. "It isn't good for Earthlings, I bet. Allergies can even kill you. Did you know that? They're real dangerous, sometimes. And that's such a weird name, why's it called something like that when it just looks like rice?"

Down the table, someone sniggered. Peter couldn't know it was aimed at him, but glanced that way in any case.

"The word's 'trafficking', not traffic! And who gives a shit about wanting this or that? Your choice to starve if that's really how your mood takes you. What kinda lessons you been downloading, anyway? Learning so slow..." Yondu growled to himself. "Go on, then, eat up your turncoat. Wasting food and money..."

*

The moment came at last:

"It is so not called 'prissiness'!" Peter jumped up onto the bench and waved around his cutlery, the better to get declamatory. "I knew it! I knew it! That's why you never let me order takeout! You were all telling me the wrong names for food and I could so tell! And this time it's because you're all super mega gross!"

Lucky he'd figured it out now, rather than when they were teaching him words for 'traitor'.

"I'm gonna go wash my hands, just watch!"

"Lads! Get him!" Tullk yelled, laughing, and other easily-entertained crewmates jumped up and ran for Peter from all across the canteen. The shrill he let out could have been genuine fear or the kind he got from parachuting. He legged it for the door that led to the closest bathroom, then doubled back because a few of his pursuers had that entrance staked out. For a second it looked like he was trying to get a run-up so that he could do his normal dumb thing of tackling people three times his size. Instead, Peter's steps stuttered and he ran for a different door - one that would lead to his favourite bolthole.

"Are you giving up, boyo?" Tullk shouted.

Kraglin had been neglecting his own food to watch the runaround, grinning when Peter screeched and had to wriggle away from a grab. "He's got cleaning solutions stored up thataway from his chores," he called out, and the chase was on again. Self-satisfied, he righted himself on the canteen bench and tucked back in.

Yondu scowled. "Li'l Quill _is_ prissy."

"Makes him better at being Adorable Lost Rich Kiddie Xandarian," Kraglin said, being the crew's home-planet expert on the topic of Xandarians. "Oh, and, you oughta know, Captain - his accent's better, too. Sounds like plenty of kids from satellite colonies by now. The type that's from a family that's probably not the most fashionable, but still trying. Pretty convincing."

 _There, see?_ If Yondu were a measure of drunk, he might have jumped on the bench just like the kid had, so he could announce: _Plenty of uses to get out of Little Quill._ Being sober, he could think over the past few months and realise with satisfaction that the crew had grown used to having Peter around, and there was no need anymore to regularly list the reasons for the situation. Why, they were pretty much used to having him in one piece by now, and no longer tried to tease or trick the smaller pieces off of him.

Peter tore through the canteen with his sudsy, pinkly scrubbed little paws held high in the air. Some of the boys jogged in after him, hooting and promising to get him later, laughing as they went to their vacated seats and settled back into their meals.

*

The canteen was a place for all kinds of talk. It might be the easiest place to relax on board, outside of the most grogged-up ho-downs where everybody agreed that they weren't really themselves anyhow. You could choose to get your nutrition done in silence, or to root out the couple of people you felt weren't scum and sit with them, or stick with your most regular, known, and trusted workmates.

Some people liked Little Peter Quill outright, and sat next to him more than others did. Nothing to complain about there - it kept those who didn't like him further out of annoyance-range. It meant the kid got more lessons of the kind he needed, either from tales told about big jobs or from somebody deciding they had wisdom to share. A surprising amount of what Peter had brought along Terra was useful, not least of which the stubbornness, and even the way he kept babbling stories, so that Yondu kept finding he was adapting faster than you'd expect - but there was always the harder, tougher, darker stuff.

Which was what was going on now. Nothing to object to, Yondu thought as he listened to Peter and one of the engine jockeys. What better time than mealtime to give a lesson in recognising and using poisons? The offer to sell him some to boot, that was downright giving.

The kid ran to get some of his loot for trade practically as soon as the offer was made. And the look on his face when he'd realised the offer was serious - mad and miserable... He must have somebody in mind for trying out that poison on.

Captain and crewmate exchanged looks, surprised and taking stock. Seemed like he wasn't the only one who hadn't thought the kid would take to the idea like it was a shiny toy, especially after the descriptions of poison making you turn colours and go squishy in odd spots and foam at the mouth. Yondu got up and left his own plate of food cooling on the table, too.

If he hadn't left as fast as he did, he might not have found Peter. It seemed he had a new hidey-hole, and yet another one that was at a blind spot for the central cameras. Or, give the sneak his due, it might be an old one that Yondu was only catching on to now. Peter saw Yondu jogging up to him, but he kept pulling out enough belongings to match payment for the poison.

There was a railing opposite Peter's hole in the wall, and Yondu leaned against it heavily. He stared at the ceiling a while, but when he looked down, it was in a steady way. He felt serious about this. Could as well show it. "Peter. Seems to me, you got a grudge you want to go to work on."

He pulled out a little jewel, looking at it in the pretence of having an experienced assessor's eye, holding it up without bothering particularly to check how it refracted light. "Yeah, well ... what's a grudge?"

"That's when you're real pissed off for a long time. You're still as mad about some specific thing on day one hundred as you were on day one."

You could see it when knowledge settled and seeded in the kid. He went solemn and nodded, he squinted and turned new info over all cute and suspicious, or he jumped into using it without letting another second pass. Peter went from uncertain to arguing his case. "It's not like you can let that kind of thing slide," he said hotly, whirling around to face Yondu. "You have to establish your name. Your reputation, and all that stuff, so you're not a dirtscraper and a bottom feeder."

True. That was all perfectly unarguable.

Yondu was going to argue.

At least the kid expected it of him.

"I don't think that's a real great idea," he said. "See, you kill somebody, and they get to be your new best friend."

"Oh, no way--" Peter began, but when he met Yondu's gaze he went quiet.

There. His unexpected supply of serious was coming across. "You're going to be comparing people to the first one you killed all your life. Big step to take. That's a face you're going to see in front of you for years and years and years. Awake and dreaming. Gonna think about 'em so much it's like they're someone you still talk to. Lasts longer than a grudge would, almost just like a real good friend."

It didn't work that way for most people Yondu knew. 'Good riddance' was the majority opinion among the killers of his acquaintance when it came to their targets - he didn't have much of an affinity for the kind of people who didn't have proper reason for murdering. Some did regret, though, sighing over their drinks about the same old things every other time you sat beside them, and Peter... Look at the kid guarding his backpack of useless goodies like they were his life support, how he clung to every story his corner of Terra had produced. The boy was awful likely to carry it with him if one of his tantrums led to a death. He'd remember it like he would remember first kisses, first solo flight ... whatever kids did, first of all sorts of shit, as Peter was pretty much only a couple of scuffs distant from brand new. Shouldn't this kind of first count for more than whatever people spouted off around the canteen so they sounded pretty cool?

"My mom was my best friend," Peter murmured, and then off-handedly added, "I know that's lame, shut up." He was so deep in thought he didn't notice Yondu scowling in response--what's the point of keeping a kid around if you can't tease them into a tizzy? "I'm not going to think about some jerk the way I think about Mom. Uuughh, having him in my head all the time? No way. I guess I can see what you mean ... that it could bug somebody a lot. Killing."

He glanced at the jewel in his hand, put it away and closed up his hidey-hole by sliding a loose wall-slat into place and screwing it shut. As he worked, he spoke. "But what about when I do have to shoot a person, and not just get one shot so I can make a distraction? Or ... you know ... knife them, or use poison, or whatever."

Thank fuck, they were back to the easy stuff. "Protect yourself, that's the certain thing. If you know for sure somebody's trying to end you--you end them first, any way you can. If it's crew, and you can get to me before any killing, that's what you do. Depending on circumstances, it might still be fair to offer you a shot at 'em after, but that's my job to take care of, in the end. And aside from protecting yourself, you have to decide. What do you think you're willing to protect, and how much do you want to do for the sake of that protecting? The crew, a score, and yeah, your reputation. All of that - all of what's in your life and somebody might want to take. Think on it."

"It has to be worth getting what's pretty much a new best friend." His hands were on the walkman, as he whispered, and his face paler by the end.

Well, that was done, Yondu decided, and made haste to get back to proper business: "And announcing that about your mama, of all people - you ain't wrong when you say it makes you sound pretty lame."

"Takes one to know one," Peter said, and amazingly, he was still not embarrassed. He rolled his eyes as he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over to Yondu.

"I'm just telling the plain truth, here. Providing corroboration for your statement, even. It really, truly is lame." 

"So's your face."

"What? I'll have you know, I'm as pretty as an angel!"

Peter went still like a man springing an ambush, and oh-so-slowly his head came up. He looked at Yondu with a gaping mouth, consternation pushing his eyebrows together.

"This translator implant really isn't working right! Aw, man, dogwhorefuck _dammit_. Yondu, we gotta go get it fixed, come on. Or it's gonna take even longer before I get in on one of the really cool jobs!"

"Nah, boy." Yondu had to drop his face into his hand so he didn't start lauging until he wheezed, but kept it together enough to give the kid only a teensy whack on the back, so as to avoid launching a whining session. It was nice to have Peter here with him, listening without having to be yelled at, and trustful, pretty much. "You're learning up just the way you ought to."

 


End file.
